


and so it goes

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abuse, Abusive Relationships, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alcoholic John, Alternate Universe - Bookstore, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Human, Date Rape Drug/Roofies, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Physical Abuse, Protective Bobby Singer, Protective Castiel, Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Abuse, Slow Build Castiel/Dean Winchester, Slow Burn, Tags May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-29
Updated: 2015-07-29
Packaged: 2018-04-11 20:27:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4451024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean dropped out of high school to take care of his brother and alcoholic father. Such a dramatic and devastating decision does not come without repercussions, as he soon found out. Cut to a few years later, and Dean's trapped in a dead-end job and a dangerous relationship with a dangerous individual. </p><p>This is the story of a young man attempting to help his family survive, fighting to overcome his inner demons and his own personal devil, struggling to find love in the big bad world that he lives in, and to discover his own future.</p><p>“And Lot’s wife, of course, was told not to look back where all those people and their homes had been. But she did look back, and I love her for that, because it was so human. So she was turned to a pillar of salt. So it goes. People aren’t supposed to look back. I’m certainly not going to do it anymore.” – Kurt Vonnegut, Slaughterhouse-Five</p>
            </blockquote>





	and so it goes

It was a sad, yellow morning that found Dean sitting in his kitchen, a solitary monolithic figure in an unmoving setting. It was spring in Lawrence, a season he couldn’t find it in himself to enjoy this year. Sunlight came in through the window at a steep angle, setting the table and blinds ablaze with color. The rest of the room was filled with a dull beige ambiance, one that set the somber tone of the room. The light hit Dean’s shoulders in such a way that the young man could feel it against his back as if it held actual weight. It was an expiatory moment in time as everything froze around him. He prayed to his cup of coffee, sucking down the holy drink with an apologetic expression blessing his face.

The spell was broken, however, when Sam decided to call. The phone rang out, a shrill, repetitive noise that immediately had Dean cursing Alexander Graham Bell for inventing the damned thing.

“What?” he asked, irritated.

“Hey. How’re you this morning?” His brother asked in a cheery manor, completely oblivious to Dean’s less-than-benevolent tone.

“Good.”

“Really?” Sam asked, something bubbling up from underneath the soft tenor of his voice. “You haven’t seemed ‘good’ in weeks, Dean. Is that creep still breathing down your neck?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “No, he’s at work.”

“Why do you even hang around that guy?” Dean could hear Sam question. “You’re worth so much better than that…” But Dean was already out-to-lunch, his mind passing into one of the more frequently-occurring phases of disassociated existence he was prone to slip into. It had only started as a way to cope with ‘that creep’, as Sam dubbed him. He was dragged out of his reverie by the calling of his name.

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“You did it again, didn’t you?”

Dean rubbed a tired hand down the planes of his face in a habitual motion, unable to adequately explain his thoughts to his brother. “I let him in because he pays my bills, Sammy. The only reason I’m not living with Dad or Bobby is because he’s there to take care of my rent. I’m not gonna get into it with you right now, okay?”

“Fine.” The line went quiet, for a time. “Alright then, how’s the new job?”

Dean couldn’t help but be relieved at Sam’s well-placed switch in conversation. “I’m starting today. Had orientation yesterday, got to meet my new boss and the other dude who was hired.”

“Who’s the other guy?”

Dean smiled in a quiet, soft way. “I dunno – he had a weird name, though. Like, a religious one.” He left out the man’s name, Castiel, among a list of other things about him.

“That’s… cool I guess. How’s Dad?”

Dean closed his eyes, a resigned sigh passing across his chapped lips. “How d’you think he is?”

“Point taken.”

“I’ll check up on him after work or something, okay? I’ve gotta get going here. I have a job after all, college boy.”

Sam chuckled before saying goodbye. He hung up.

Dean wrung his hands, his face dimming. Another day, another dollar, he thought glumly. His laugh was a terrible one, a wretched thing that cut through the silence of the room like a serrated blade. He mustered up all the courage he could, and decided to get ready for the rest of the day.

 

\---

 

He arrived at ‘Purgatory Books’ not long after. He was only two minutes early, much to the cowardly dismay of his coworker.

“You’re almost late,” was the first thing he heard upon entering the establishment.

“Well hello to you too, Cas.” Dean tipped an invisible hat, dancing around the back room.

Castiel just glared at him – until the charade fell and he tripped into an accidental grin.

“I was worried you’d leave me alone, on the first day,” the pale man said. 

“As if I would do that to you, buddy.” Dean winked. “Where’s Crowley, by the way?”

“If you were listening yesterday, you would know that he’s away on business.”

“You know what? I resent that.” Dean pointed a dirty finger at his coworker, causing the other man to broaden his smile. “Our boss is crass and creepy, and I’d much rather be talking to you.”

Castiel’s cheeks took on some color, and Dean laughed.

“We’ve got work to do,” Dean said after a moment. “Let’s get started.”

 

\---

 

He came home to an empty house that night, thank God.

Dean collapsed onto a weathered couch, one that had seen better days. With nothing better to do, he flipped aimlessly through the channels. He settled on some nature documentary, one that he could tune out without effort.

And he let his mind drift.

 

\---

 

That next morning, Dean went into work with a doughnut in hand. He expected Castiel to chastise him for bringing food, but was met with a different response.

“Did you get that from ‘Heaven’s Delights’?” The man asked Dean, his eyebrows perked up.

“Yeah?” Dean replied, more of a question than an answer.

A shadow of a smile passed across Castiel’s face. “My brother owns that bakery.”

Dean’s face broke out into a grin, and as they worked on unpacking and shelving the books that were left over from the day before, the two men started to converse with one another.

 

\---

 

They traded stories like two old men over their work. Cas, as he was now called, told about his brothers Gabriel and Michael, and their childhood with overbearing parents. In exchange, Dean talked about his little brother Sam and how he was faring in college.

He found Castiel’s barely-there sarcasm to be mesmerizing in its subtleness, and his lack of pop-culture knowledge to be hilarious. They took to one another quicker than either had with any other person. It was nice, Dean thought. Nice to have a fast friend at his new job.

“I would try that recipe, but my sink’s backed up,” Cas explained near the end of the day.

“Oh, really?” Dean asked. “I’m pretty handy with those kinds of things, y’know. I could help out.”

“It’s fine, I was planning on calling in someone to fix it.”

"Are you kidding? I'll do it for free! Just give me a time and a place, and I'll be there."

Castiel looked like he was about to say no, but the way the corners of his lips pulled up suggested otherwise. "...Can you do tomorrow? After we finish up here?"

Dean flashed his teeth wolfishly in response.

 

\---

 

The drive to his dad’s house was a silent, contemplative one. The gray and decrepit streets making up the neighborhood were devoid of people, the early spring grass tangled in the wind. Garbage was lined up on the curb, the trucks late as always. The area wasn’t a pleasant one, but it was where he grew up and where his father still lived. Dean never liked visiting the place, but he pushed past his revulsion when he parked his car in front of the house.

He found John slumped over the table, a drink clasped loosely in his hand.

“Hey, Dad.” Dean stepped into the dining room, almost tripping over an empty bottle of Jack on the floor. “Did you eat anything yet?”

John grunted negatively in response. His watery eyes swept over his son, and then glanced down at his stained shirt. He looked downright filthy, his hair scraggly, his beard dripping with whatever was in his glass.

Dean turned on the stove, and put a pot of water on to boil. In the meantime, he began to prepare garlic for the spaghetti. He peeled and crushed the garlic, ignoring the sounds his father made. By the time the water was boiling, he was finished.

“Sammy,” the oldest Winchester groaned. “How’s he doin’?

“He’s fine, Dad. Studying for his classes ‘n all.”

John seemed to roll this over in his mind for a minute. “He always was the smarter one, that kid. Good on him.”

Dean felt like he was slapped in the face, but he didn’t say anything to the contrary. They slipped into silence as the younger man strained the pasta and added olive oil and the garlic to the heated pot.

“How are your classes going?” John mumbled.

Dean sighed. He put the spaghetti down on the table, and left without another word spoken between them.

 

\---

 

The second he walked in his house, he knew that Alastair had let himself in.

The crooked man slithered up behind Dean, a slow smile creeping up his long face. “Hey, Dean,” he drawled in a sleepy tone. “How was your day?”

Dean didn’t say anything. Alastair expected as much.

“I was thinking. Just this morning, at work. I dunno, we could maybe grab a bite to eat tomorrow. I’d really appreciate it.”

Dean swallowed, and turned around in Alastair’s arms. “I thought you and Meg were going to the movies?” 

“No. I dumped that weeping bitch. I thought I’d spend more time with my leading man, here.” His voice reminded the younger man of wet leaves shifting under heavy falls of snow, or the quiet decaying of a rodent underneath the hot sun.

Alastair began to trace circles on Dean’s cheek. Dean ignored him and said, “I’m sorry, but I’ve got to help a friend out with something then. Maybe the next day?”

There was barely a second between Dean’s answer and Alastair’s fingers squeezing tight around his neck. Dean gasped and sputtered like an old car when Alastair increased the pressure on his windpipe.

He was all cool rage, his smile devious and malevolent. “Now, why would you do that to me, Dean? Don’t you like spending time with me?”

Dean tapped against the hands holding him hostage, and he was released. He sucked in air like a dying man, doubling over to lean on his knees. “I’d love… to go to… dinner, but… I already said yes.”

Alastair backed off immediately, his eyes settling to blank darkness. “I understand.” He cradled Dean’s jaw, pressing a thumb harshly against a bruise from the other day. “You just made me mad, is all. Look what you did.”

After that, he went home.

 

\---

 

Dean propped a pillow against the back of his sorry loveseat and sat down on it. He knew that he should probably go see the doctor, but like the previous times Alastair had abused him, he remained at home with his mouth shut. Who could he tell? Sammy and Bobby would just make a bad situation worse, and John couldn’t lift a finger in his state. Probably wouldn’t even try. Dean’s other friends wouldn’t be much help, either. 

And even if he managed to get Alastair off his back, he couldn’t afford to pay his bills or send home checks to his dad. What would any of them do then?

Dean sighed, and rubbed absently at his sore cheek. He gulped down ice water in hopes of soothing his throat, and sank deeper into the beaten cushions. 

His house wasn’t perfect, but it did the job. All the mismatched furniture he got came from the Good Will or garage sales, and the paint on the wall was smudged with dirt and was chipping. But it was better than staying with his family and being a bother to them.

If only he had been able to go to college, then maybe he wouldn’t need some freak to help him survive in this harsh world.

Dean closed his eyes, and eased himself into a restless, painful sleep. The night swallowed him up in its dark clutches, and he was all too eager to go.


End file.
